CSI Parody (WT)

Chapter One

By Meaghan Stevenson and Sara Arboleda

(The Jew Crew)

Grissom enters his office, devoid of emotion. Sitting at his desk he slowly opens the second drawer down and adds a lock of hair to the shrine of Sara.

A knock on the door causes Grissom to have a mild expression of partial surprise as he quickly shuts the drawer.

"Nick," says he, seeing the outlined silhouette in the doorway, its hands planted on its rock-hard abs, chiseled chin jutting upwards. "Have you seen Greg?"

Nick flips a nearby switch, casting him in better lighting. "I don't… what are you implying?" asks Nick, with his quaint Southern accent from some nondescript yet charming small town in Texas.

"I need you to get some reports from him for the two-headed suicide-homicide Siamese twin male hooker case. I have a feeling we can dig up another trite plot twist if we try," says Grissom, rearranging the pencils on his desk from shortest to longest.

"Yeah. Sure."

As Nick leaves, he passes Warrick and Sara going the opposite direction in the hallway and talking to further the plot.

"Nick!" calls a voice, and he turns to find Greg, looking comical and attractive.

"Hey, Nick. I got the DNA results right here. Turns out the hookers owned a major bank branch in Las Angeles and they're not really Siamese twins – superglue and home-made clothes."

"Why?" demands Nick, in a muscularly heroic fashion.

Greg shrugs hilariously. "Because it's needlessly weird and unexpected?"

"Greg, can I talk to you for a second, in private?" asks Nick, surveying the empty hall and leading Greg into a nearby lab, locking them in.

"Greg, I have a confession to make."

"You didn't sleep with another dead hooker, did you?"

"Greg… I have two confessions to make."

"What is it, then?"

"First: I never slept with that whore. I paid her to say we did so no one at the lab would suspect…" Nick ponders for a moment, looking bronzed yet vacant. "Greg, being brought up in the small town which gave me this quaint and charming Southern accent taught me three things: One: how to say y'all without laughing; Two: How to shuck a hefty corn husk; and Three: how to have gay sex in the hay loft after barn socials."

Greg stares at Nick for a full minute. "I'm… I'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

"I like to sleep with men."

"Right."

"And I'm telling you."

"Correct."

"So…"

"You're gay?" asks Greg, uncharacteristically seriously.

"Can't a man just enjoy sleeping with other men without having to throw labels out?"

There's a knock at the locked, clear glass door. Greg goes to answer amusingly.

"Grissom!" says Nick, now that the door is open.

"The reports!" says Greg. "Turns out - "

"We already know," says Grissom in his most excited monotone.

"But how?" inquires Greg.

Grissom shrugs. "The plot was moving too slowly. We've already explored 10 different ways they could have died. Warrick's arresting the Communists now."

"Warrick's not a cop," says Nick handsomely.

"A lot has happened," answers Grissom.

"Great," interjects Greg. "I'll get to work on tomorrow's 3-hour investigation."

"I hope you're not letting the CSI's ride you too hard," says Grissom to Greg as he leaves down the hallway. "So, what are you doing tonight, Nick?"

"Whores. I love whores. Female whores."

Catherine enters, looking smug and feminist. "Is someone speaking of women who exchange sex or nudity for money in a way which demeans them?"

"No. Never," says Grissom, faintly concerned.

"Good," responds Catherine. "Because everyone should know that even strippers and hookers can become successful professional scientists and mothers."

"Catherine?" asks Sara, coming in for equally no reason. "My female whore detector went off – I feel I need to make a boring feminist statement."

"No, I already covered it," she answers, and the two leave together.

"So…" tries Nick, steering away from the previous conversation, "what's going on with you and Sara?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, you've been milking that cheap and creepy attempt at sexual tension for years."

"I'm… I'm a virgin."

"You are?"

"No, I just think she's ugly and I'm trying to let her down gently."

"Really?"

"No."

"I'm back," says Greg adorably.

"Good. I'll go sleep in my office as usual and you two hammer this out till morning."

Grissom leaves. Boredom and despair leave with him.

"Nick, I have a question," says Greg as the trail of lonely nights and insects finally dissipates. "Wanna process my DNA?"

"No, Greg. I've been trying to tell you that I think you're cute and I sleep with men."

"Uh-huh. And I just asked you in a very obvious way if you want to fuck, but that's okay – we can't all win sometimes.

Nick's cell phone rings and he answers it, looking toned.

"It's Brass," Nick informs Greg for the audience's benefit. "Murder at the Bellaggio."

"For story purposes, we'll jump to Season 5. Let's roll. I'll get the CSI jackets," says Greg, adjusting the quirky outrageousness of his hair to match the year.

"I'll go throw on more baby oil and meet you at the scene in slow motion while people grieve. This adds depth to the scene. Plus I look fantastic in slow motion."

"If we hurry, we might be able to catch Grissom's hilarious, insensitive and inappropriate pun before the opening credits.